


Forgotten Things

by Twiizz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben loves Rey, Multi, cannon adjacent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twiizz/pseuds/Twiizz
Summary: After the events of TROS, Ben wakes up in a place in-between. Armed only with the mysterious figure that discovered him there, they must navigate an ever-changing landscape and tackle the pasts and futures of their difficult entangled stories, especially if they ever plan on getting out of here.
Relationships: Original Characters - Relationship, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. I'll Be Sorry to Wake You

The first thing that returns to him is sound. A soft crackle of wood? A fire. As smell kicks back in, it is confirmed. The undeniable scent of smoke with an undertone that triggers memories of battle. A warmth on one side of his body and a chill on the other gives him a sense of space. The fire is to his right, and close enough to feel the flames approach and depart as the air turns. His mouth is dry. Lips still burning with sensation. The memory of why gives him the strength to open his eyes, wildly searching the space in front him where he knows she just was. But what was blue, is now red, and as he sits up, only the ghost of a touch lingers as he stares into emptiness. 

There is a stirring to his right and he quickly looks over to see the hand of a hooded figure across the fire reach for a weapon and pause over one they must have found at their side. His eyes scan up to meet ones of ice, glowing in the firelight. The dark face paint around them only emphasizing the stare. He is being studied. 

He lowers his eyes again the find the presumed weapon, but the air shifts before it can come into focus.

“So, which one are we getting?” The figure asks. It’s a feminine tone, inquisitive and stern. 

He is confused at first, but the realization is harsh. This person recognizes him. No, more than that. They know enough about him to ask whether who woke up is the infamous Jedi killer or the one who tossed that whole facade into the ocean.

“Ben,” he returns, voice so hoarse it barely comes out. He swallows sharply. How long had he been out?

The hooded shoulders across from him relax a bit, and the hand at her hip instead reaches for a bag to her right revealing the knife she had been reaching for. Sturdy enough to do some damage and small enough to throw if needed, if his limited weapons training told him anything.

She finds what she was looking for in the bag and tosses across the fire a dense metal can. At least his reflexes are working, he notes, as he catches the can before it can smack his chest and quickly examines for a label. All he finds is a pop tab and ash marks. The label had burned off. 

“It’s a Kerrelian Soup, mostly vegetable, but the broth will be good for re-hydrating you.” Her tone is less harsh this time. When he glances over again, she is pulling a vitality bar, Ben recognizes it as what the First Order fed officer trainees, from the bag as well. This time for herself. 

She looks between him and the can expectantly. If she wanted him dead, it seems she had plenty time and there are much easier ways than this, so he gives in. The sound of the tab popping unleashes the ravenous thirst he must’ve been too distracted to recognize was building, so he takes a sip of the lukewarm liquid. 

Seemingly content now, the figure gives a small nod and opens the small packaged food in her hands.

With a couple of gulps of soup running through him, Ben clears his throat to catch the attention of his company. She looks over as expected and leans a bit towards the fire, waiting for him to speak.

“Thank you,” he says firmly but trails off and resorts to gesturing towards her.

She gets the hint. “Jazz,” she responds, “and you’re welcome.” Jazz gives a small smile, but it is not quite reaching her eyes. Ben wonders if it possible for it ever to with that stark face paint purposefully keeping up a cutting glare. 

Ben decides to push further anyway, hoping to both build up rapport with this individual he’s somehow fated here with and find out how they know so much about him.

“Do you have a family name I might recognize, Jazz?” He asks, hoping his voice sounds collected and genuinely curious.

She chuckles a bit at this, which shakes Ben more than he expected.

“Not to you, Solo. It’s just Jazz.” She announces and holds eye contact so that there is no question of her seriousness.

He drops it there. To prove he’s backed off, he returns to his soup and his eyes drop to the fire. There’s something strange in the shape of it, in the taste and smell as well. There’s too much smoke. This is obviously not the proper wood for a fire, but the gray clouds it is dispensing makes it difficult to make out any specifics about what is burning. With more focus and another sip of sustenance, he can just start to make out the shape below the flames. There’s a longer piece somehow hinged to a shorter one that curves inward at its top and bottom, or its side if the whole thing is tilt-. 

Realization hits him like a brick. A standard issue pilot or controller’s seat. It’s just like the one installed in the first silencer he ever flew. “Why?” He asks out loud accidentally.

There is a chuckle again from Jazz, more inviting than the last.

“You have to get creative here. What can I say?” The confusion must be clear on his face, because the slight smile she was holding fades into concern the longer he contemplates her words. 

“Wait, Solo, have you really been out all this time?” She questions slowly, almost tender, like she already knew the answer, but had been hoping it wasn’t true.

Ben gulps, throat going dry again. “How long?” He asks. It’s barely more than a whisper.

“It had been about five years from the stories I heard, and that was before I made it here. It’s difficult to tell time, but with my eating and sleeping patterns I estimate it was a couple months before I came across you, and two more sleeps until you woke up.” This is the most forthcoming Jazz had been up to this point. With every word her eyes scan Ben’s face carefully watching for any twitch, any tick, any giveaway to how these words were registering and affecting him.

Five years here. Five years not there. They had finally come together. One precious moment to share after fighting for so long. Rey had finally gotten to see Ben for all he was and all he wanted to be, just to lose each other again, for five years. Five years here. Five years in this seemingly infinite darkness, until someone happened upon him. How had he survived for so long asleep? Why did he wake up now? Five years here.

“Where is here?” He asks to those icy eyes melting into oceans in the firelight.

She spares a look around them before responding, “From everything I’ve read, the best description I could find is ‘somewhere in-between.’ According to the stories, when it all went down, you faded away. Rey thought you had become one with the force, but you never appeared to her.”

The thought of Rey, alone, waiting for him tears him somewhere inside. Was she still waiting? After five years had she given up on him like everyone else eventually had?

“I don’t think it is inherently good or bad,” Jazz continues either missing his pain or purposefully trying to move on, “The force put you here to keep you alive, and it’s quiet most of the time. There is something sinister though.” She pauses to look around again, carefully eyeing their horizon. Content, she resumes, “Wreckage fazes in and out of existence. Everything I’ve come across, First Order. The only semblance of life until you were soulless beasts, only discernible quality: rabidness.” There is shudder in her before Jazz continues, “Speaking of, we should get moving. I’ve noticed staying in one place too long seems to attract them.” She stands up and begins collecting her bag and folding up the sheets she had been sitting on.

We? He notes, but decides he’s better off following her suggestion. Her couple of months here will know way more than him.

“You’re right,” Jazz turns quickly back to him, “I shouldn’t have assumed anything. Experience has taught me together is better for survival, but that’s only experience.”

“How about this?” She asks while smothering the fire with a blanket. “I came across a large ship not too far from here before I discovered you. If it is still there, I can show you where it is, get you cleaned up and some warm clothes before that fever comes down.” 

Ben reaches up to his forehead, sure enough, burning up.

“Restock on food.” Jazz continues, “The we can decide how to proceed. Work for you?” 

Bens eyes float back from the holes in his sweater to Jazz who is looking at him expectantly. Her suggestion is more than generous if she is expecting him to go off on his own.

“Sounds good,” Ben responds and gives her grateful smile.

“Good.” She returns, face deceptively pink without the glow of the fire.

Jazz stuffs the snuffing blanket in her bag and hands the entire thing over to Ben. He is standing now, but just now seeing the pile of sheets similar to hers that he had been on. From the way the sheets are thrown, it looks as though he had been tucked in before he awoke. Ben turns to question Jazz about it, but she is no longer facing him, looking out at the horizon again. He decides to forget it for now. Maybe it’s enough to just be grateful he is alive. He quickly stuffs his sheets in the bag as well and throws it over his shoulder. 

Hearing Ben’s footsteps approaching, Jazz starts to move, but away from the place her eyes had been glued. 

“So, those beasts?” Ben asks, coming into step with Jazz.

She shakes her head a bit. “Nothing you should be too afraid of. They are quick, but weak skinned. Sure to give you a jump in the night though,” she warned, a quick shudder coming over her once more. 

“And the wreckage that fades in and out of existence, anything else there?” He asks, trying get as much information as he can about this strange place while he can. 

“Take quick showers,” she jokes, “and collect anything you might need as you see it. You don’t know if it will still be there when you go back for it. Finding a good bag should be priority number one.” She eyes the one on his shoulder. Ben just hikes it higher. 

“Anything else living?” He continues his questioning.

“Besides possibly those beasts and you? No.” Jazz lowers her head. While truthful, this is not the answer she wants to give.

“Are you looking for someone?” Ben asks carefully. He previous pry into the personal did not come out fruitful. 

She nods though. “My sister,” she says sadly. “She passed similarly to you, actually. Thought I might find her here.” Her eyes haven’t left the ground.

After the first wave of sorrow passes through Ben, the full weight of her words hits him. She came here looking for someone. She came here on purpose.

“How did you get here?” he asks hoping it may hold the secret of how to get out as well.

“I convinced the force I was dead.” She begins walking faster, dropping the conversation there. Ben picks up his feet to keep up but leaves her a few steps ahead. 

They walk like this in silence for a period of time that is somehow both unbelievably short and impossibly long. Ben understands now why Jazz had resorted to counting her sleeps. It’s hard enough to tell which way is up in this strange place, let alone which direction they could possibly be moving in it. Varying pieces of rubble form and disappear in the distance though, and Jazz must recognize them, because she keeps moving ahead. 

Thick black smoke floats around in the blood red hued air in every direction. One particular flume catches Ben’s attention as it traces down and across the sky in front of him straight into Jazz’s figure. He takes one step aside and sure enough, coming into view is the fiery remains of a large ship in a model Ben does not recognize. 

As they approach the gashed metal entrance of the ship, Jazz finally turns to look at him and clears her throat.

“I’m going to check to see if I missed any food the first time around.” She gestures inside to the left and then turns to the hallway on their right. “There were bunks about halfway down that hall. You should hopefully find clothes that fit,” she says while eyeing him over, “Ehem. And if we are lucky a bag.” She reaches for the one on Ben’s shoulder and he lowers his arm to let it slide down to her.” Jazz nods again at the hallway and turns quickly on her heels to scurry away to the other side of the ship. 

As he makes his way down the hall, Ben notes that the overall aesthetic of the ship is unmistakable as a First Order design. Slick floors and bright lights are installed as an intimidation tactic for both visitors and recruits. Ben shakes his head at this. Little did they know it’s much more intimidating with lights half burned out, falling off the wall onto a floor still steaming from the fire that had obviously ravaged it.

An opening on his right gives way to bunks and Ben quickly scavenges through the drawers. It takes some searching, but he is able to find a fresh long sleeve, pants that were at least long enough to tuck into some high boots, and a stiff black jacket that fits over his frame. 

As he finishes lacing the boots, a noise comes from the hall he was just in. Ben pauses and waits to listen for it again. 

“Ben,” a voice calls. Its unmistakable. He shakes his head to rid what must be a daydream but stands up instinctively anyway. 

“Ben?” It calls again, this time teaming with pain. Was he really going to ignore her call? No.

He rushes out to the hallway to find where it is coming from.

“Ben.” It whispers on his right and he begins bolting down the hall in that direction. There are footsteps behind him.

“Solo! Solo, stop.” Jazz cries out, but he can’t. He needs to find her. She’s here. 

He reaches the end of what’s left of the hallway. The trunk of the ship is still burning, but when the voice comes again, it’s coming from inside the flames. He moves to take a step through a gap in the burning metal, but his pants begin to singe. He’d do anything to see her though, so he ducks his head to put his whole self through.

Instead of heat on his face, he is thrown backwards onto the hard floor below him. As his head smacks the ground, he finds Jazz above him panting, sweaty, hood now lowered from running after him. Her hair is dark enough that is takes on the hue of the room. The blue lights and red flames frame a violet figure kneeling down to his level. 

Before he can raise himself up to try to get to her again, Jazz’s hand comes down on his chest, hard, holding him there. 

“It’s not her,” she says surely looking in his eyes for pointedness. 

He searches her eyes for answers, but she just repeats herself, “Ben, it’s not her.” She lets herself fall to her knees completely now, but still holds firm on his chest. 

He raises his hand to meet hers and moves it slowly to show he won’t try to make a break for it, and she allows him to sit up. 

“What is it?” He asks slowly, mind reaching for a trace of Rey. If she was here, he would feel it. He feels nothing.

“I don’t know,” Jazz says, frustration clear in her voice, “a trick of the force maybe. I thought I’d made it up honestly. Isolation and all that, you know? But then I heard it call to you. I recognized the voice.” 

She pauses for only a second and reaches for her right hip. As the robe is pushed aside, Ben can see a line of communicators looped on her belt. One of them is blinking rapidly. Jazz unclasps the very first communicator, grabs Ben’s hand with her own singed, shaky one, and places it in his grasp.

“If she does try to contact us, you’ll be the first to know.” She smiles at him, folds his hand over the communicator tightly, and then lets him go.

“This is a line to Rey?” Ben asks dumbfounded.

Jazz nods. “We’ve met,” she adds softly, “seemed like someone I’d like to be able to find again someday.” She chuckled sweetly.

Ben unfolds his hand to look at the communicator.

“I haven’t been able to get a signal out of here, but maybe your magical dyad thing could help with that,” she eyes him expectantly. 

He presses the button on the face of the device. It lights up and begins blinking slowly for a few seconds before going black. No connection. 

His heart drops to his feet. Obviously disappointed as well, Jazz stands up, but does not ask for the communicator back. Ben holds it tightly while thinking about the events that had just unfolded. 

“Jazz?” He asks gently. She turns to him, still sorrowful, but purses her lips to tell him to continue.

“This has happened to you before?” He prods.

She nods, “A few times actually. End result is always the same. Just pain.” 

Curiosity takes over him before he can think any better, “Is it your sister that you hear?”

“No…,” she says sadly, “…it’s, ...always Max.”

As the last syllable drops, so does the ship they had been sheltered in. All that’s left are their two figures in the red abyss, and whatever they had on their person.


	2. Of All the Stars That Shine...

The defenders squadron landed in their camp about two months after the pillaging that left little survivors. Mostly children remained. They had been pushed out of the area by their parents with the little warning they were given of the impending attack. 

Jannie was the first to run up and greet the group excitedly. Jazz watched from the edge of the growing crowd. What little that was left of the village was all out here today. 

It was nice to see Jannie’s spirits high. They had lost both parents in the raid, and only barely being an adult herself, Jazz had difficulty juggling the new responsibility of caring for a young, force-sensitive teenager and finding time for her own grief. 

There were rumors of a growing vigilante group that would come train smaller villages and get them ready to defend themselves. With the growing disorder in the galaxy, this was a priceless amenity to come by. 

Jazz looked on as Jannie greeted each “defender” individually with big smiles and even bigger hugs. Each of the five large guys were equally surprised by this affection, but each also walked away with small growing grins. 

A smaller man trailed the group, just now walking down the platform from the ship they arrived on. As soon as his face was clear of the landing above him, he began scanning… no… assessing the crowd before him. His eyes squinted and lips pursed as he considered each of them. His movement froze on Jazz. His head tilted and eyes grew even more narrow as she held their contact.

Part of her wanted to look away. The intensity was so electrifying though, it was burning her to her toes. She watched a smirk tug at the edge of his lips. He couldn’t possibly know what just his eyes were doing to her at this distance.

Could he?

Sweat was forming in her boots. But the spell was finally broken when Jannie ran up to the man and wrapped herself right into his side. It was enough to catch his attention and he smiled down at the small girl. 

Jazz watched as he grabbed the hands wrapped around him and held on to them as he knelt down to Jannie’s level. 

Jazz had never wished more for a superhuman level ability to read lips as she watched them interact. He tilted his head at the end of phrases, probably asking questions, and Jannie would shake a bit in her shoes and nod excitedly.

After a few moments, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, placing it flat in his palm extended towards Jannie. Jannie stood tall, reached her arm forward, and shut her eyes tightly. There was a tremble in her arm and the coin began to levitate from the man’s hand.

A wide smile grew across his face as he swiped the coin out of air in front of him. Jannie jumped up and down with excitement as he spoke to her now. There was some back and forth between them and he leaned in close to whisper something. Jannie nodded over-enthusiastically and took a step back. The man spared quick glance around. Content that the crowd had somewhat dispersed to pay attention to the larger, more seemingly physical men, he turned his focus back to Jannie.

Jazz picked up her feet slowly and began moving closer to the two of them, trying to gauge fully what this interaction was. Jannie had shown off her abilities to everyone in town from a young age, most everyone dismissed it as child magic tricks or just overall unimpressive in the grand scheme of things.

Jazz was stopped dead in her tracks as a giggle erupted from Jannie and her feet lifted lightly off the ground. 

He could use the force.

When the rumors of these guys arriving started, Jazz could only spare the hope of training herself physically and Jannie picking up self-sustaining defense tips. 

There had also been rumors that more people across the galaxy were finding their sensitivity with the force, and that the “girl who saved us all,” Rey herself, was recruiting younglings to train to fight for the side of the people, should another evil regime crawl to power. 

And here was this man, smiling and chuckling softly as Jannie strained to lift him the same way he had done to her. 

He had come to help them, and he could teach her.

Jannie noticed Jazz watching and squealed out a call to her, “Jazz! Did you see that? Did you see what Max can do? He’s just like me!”

Jazz approached fully now. She wrapped her arms around Jannie and pulled the girl close into her chest. “I did. Is he going to teach you how to do that? I think it could be useful. I’m just so tired of walking,” Jazz feigns, fake collapsing over Jannie and forcing her to hold up her larger sister. 

Jazz looked up from the giggling girl and noticed the man watching with a smile on the corner of his mouth. Jannie had referred to him as ‘Max.’

He spoke up talking directly to Jazz, “I could teach you both actually.” “I think you’d have a better chance at lifting me,” Max joked.

“And what makes you think I even have the ability?” Jazz countered curiously. There had been a lot of research into who developed sensitivity to the force. While genetics definitely played a factor, force sensitive relatives were not a definite predictor in the sensitivity of someone. 

Max noticeably perked up at the challenge. “I can feel it.”

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint, but I can’t move anything with my mind,” Jazz said coyly. Not a lie, but he didn’t need to know that she was choosing her worlds carefully here.

Max squinted at her like he had before. “No, I’m right. I’ll prove it if I have to,” he warned.

Jazz chuckled a bit at this. “Though I am curious as to how you’d go about that, I’d caution against it.” He was not satisfied with this answer though, and his lips pursed a bit with distaste.

Jazz tried to move the conversation somewhere more productive, “I am glad to know there is someone here to help Jannie develop her gift more. Maybe you can point me in the direction of who can help me out with weapons combat?” 

Max stopped chewing on his lip long enough to respond, “What kind of weapon were you thinking?”

“Oh, anything and everything really. We didn’t have much of a selection to get comfortable with here.” Jazz tapped her chin considering the weapons she knew to be floating in near galaxies, “I’ve always liked the idea of a bowcaster!”

“We avoid anything with ammo during these training sessions,” Max responded, considering Jazz in her entirety, “but if you do have good aim, I’m partial to throwing knives.”

The glint in his eye as he mentioned knives sent a shiver of excitement through Jazz. Those could do the trick. Offensively useful, but more importantly, defensively. Jazz wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her family again.

She decided she’d train in everything she could get her hands on while the time allowed, but if knives training meant she could stay even closer to her little sister and whatever is making her heart beat out of her chest, well then, all the better.

Considering the severity of the recent attack, everyone got down to business quickly. Groups of trainees popped up all around the open field the squadron’s ship had landed in and the adjacent plaza.

Max scoffed at the sight of them all, obviously perturbed by the lack of crowd he was attracting. He composed himself quickly though and turned back to the two girls with a smile.

“Shall we get started?”

This elicited a high kick from Jannie. Jazz appreciated Max’s willingness to get moving. While introductions and pleasantries were nice, she had hoped the reality of what had only recently happened here wouldn’t be lost on their guests. She wanted to prepare for the next attack as if it were currently underway. 

Max led them to a nearby tree line and placed the same coin as before on the stump. He waved Jannie over and pulled her and himself down to eye-level with the piece of metal. 

“You did great lifting it before,” Max praised, “but I want to focus on control before really pushing your strength. It’s obvious you’ll be mighty.” He gave a little squeeze to Jannie’s bicep where bulging muscles would be, and her smile lit up. Jannie stayed quiet through it all though and listened intently, much to Jazz’s surprise.

The first task was getting Jannie to be able to lift the coin without squeezing her eyes shut. Jazz knew it was her way of blocking out the world around her, but obviously it would not be the most effective in combat. 

This turned out to be more difficult than expected. With one eye closed, she could get the coin to shake a bit, but that definitely wasn’t the control Max was looking for.

Jazz got an idea as Jannie closed her eyes again in frustration. 

Jazz approached sister from behind. “Come on Jannie. Let’s see those moons.” Jannie opened her silver eyes again, maybe not even realizing she had resorted back to closing them, and Jazz reached out and covered the girl’s ears. If sensory overload was the issue, maybe this could help at least add sight back to the equation. 

A rush of determination hit Jazz fingers and Jannie was able to lift the coin once more. Jannie’s ears were moving beneath Jazz’s fingertips making it obvious that the girl was smiling again.

Max slapped his hand down over the token. “Wonderful! Now if only we could hear the battle,” he joked. “Can you do a favor for me Jannie?” Max asked. 

Jazz backed away to allow him room to whisper to the girl.

Jannie plucked the coin from his hand and skipped off toward the nearby squadron ship. A scratching sound revealed she was sketching something into the metal of ship.

Max approached Jazz, slowly pulling out a small knife in a way that should be intimidating to her, but was instead only exhilarating.

He walked to stand beside her and held out the arm holding the knife to show off its positioning.

“When holding the knife,” he began, “there are 3 useful ways to grip it.” “When running you’ll want to keep it tucked in like this.” His hands held the grip while the blade reached up the front of his arm. “You are less likely to catch on anything, yourself or otherwise, this way.”

Max looked over to Jazz to make sure she was following. She nodded to acknowledge and allowed him to continue.

He flipped the blade outwards from his palm with his smallest finger closest to blade. “On attack, striking down or from the side,” he motioned both directions with the knife, “from these angles, you’ll have the most power with force of your body behind it.”

Jazz smiled when he looked up again, so he knew she was still listening. 

“And three, blade out, thumb at the top of the grip,” he finalized, following his own words with his hand, “great if someone is running at you and you can use the force of their weight behind them to do all the work.”

When he finished his lecture, he held the grip out to Jazz. She took it eagerly and immediately began shuffling through the various holds.

As she passed by #1 again, he stopped her, palming her hand gently. “Careful not to dig too deep into the arm,” he noted tracing the blue lines running beneath her skin with his other hand.

Feeling a red-hot blush rise through her skin she pulled away quickly.

“And how do we hold it for throwing?” She asked pointing the grip of the knife back at Max to demonstrate. 

He pocketed the knife surprisingly, pulling out a smaller, thinner blade with no grip. “You’ll get a lot further with and actual throwing knife,” he explained. “Pinch the blade against your palm. Thumb should line up directly through the grip of the knife. Non-dominate foot forward.” Max stepped back with his right foot, turning away from Jazz a bit. Jazz did the same to get used to the stance.

“Bring the blade straight up. Point your elbow at the target,” Max demonstrated. His elbow now pointed directly at the make-shift target Jannie had drawn into the metal of the ship. 

Jannie’s eyes grew wide at the sight of him lining up the shot and she rolled out of range quickly. 

A breathy laugh escaped Max’s lips at the sight, but he continued, “Then you just follow all the way through.” He extended his arm fully pointing at the target.

Max turned back to Jazz giving her the knife. “Just put a little rock into the throw, and you’ll be golden,” he winked.

Jazz gripped the knife carefully. Pinching the blade between her thumb and index finger, she held out her arm asking for Max’s approval on her finger placement. He nodded favorably. 

Jazz lined up her arm with the target wishing she had this technique years ago playing in the forest with Jannie. The younger sister used to move large leaves in front of trees from a distance and Jazz would try to puncture them with pointy sticks and sharp rocks. The rock Jazz had found the most luck with had a similar weight to knife she now held.

Jazz raised the knife up towards her ear and leaned through the throw. Above her extended arm she saw the knife pierce the metal just inside the second ring of the three-ring target Jannie had drawn. Her years of practice in the woods had not been just child boredom, but useful technique building. 

Max turned to her lips pursed again, surprising Jazz. 

“I knew you were lying!” He proclaimed.

Jazz deflated. “Back on that again? I really wasn’t.”

“Come on,” He grumbled, eyes pleading, “You need me to show you how to hold the knife, but you hit that shot?” … ”You moved it,” he declared proudly.

“And I can’t just be naturally good at something?” Jazz countered, annoyed at his disbelief in her. 

His eyes narrowed at her in response. 

A scratching noise erupted from where the throwing knife was lodged in the ship’s armor. The knife was moving back and forth un-wedging itself.

“Oh no,” Max feigned, turning away from the sound, “I sure hope that knife doesn’t come flying straight at me.” “If only someone could stop it,” He continued dramatically.

Jannie held her arm up trying to will it from moving, but once the knife was un-lodged, it whizzed past her easily. 

Jazz’s jaw dropped to floor as she watched the hunk of metal fly across the field where she had just thrown it and stick straight into the back of Max’s shoulder.

“Kriff!” He yelled and hunched over in pain.

Jazz threw a look over to Jannie who was frozen with shock. “Can you find some bandages?” Jazz asked. Jannie nodded quickly and ran off without a word. 

Jazz approached Max carefully. Blood was already starting to soak the shirt around the knife. 

She reached out slowly, eyeing him, but he did not flinch away. She tore the shirt down from the collar and pulled back the fabric so it would not get stuck in the wound. 

Jazz re-positioned herself so that she was now facing the front of Max. When his eyes reached hers, they were full of confusion and betrayal.

“I didn’t lie to you.” Jazz stated softly, but pointedly. “I couldn’t have stopped that knife.”

Max gave curt nod and began to lower his head, but she stopped him with a hand under his chin.

“But,” Jazz crooned, “I may be able to help you now.” She lifted the hand from his chin and hovered over his cheek. “May I?”

Max’s eyes searched hers desperately. The ring of green in his eyes barely visible from the dilation of his pupils. “Yes,” his strained voice returned.

Her palm touched skin and fingertips edged the ends of his sandy curls. His eyes fluttered shut giving her the strength to do the same. His mind was technicolored and beautiful, but with dangerous sharp edges. Waves of recognition wrapped itself around her as she traveled, telling her she was safe despite the obvious minefield. 

A thundering heartbeat called to her. She found it tethered to a mine brimming with fire. It had already exploded but was contained by an unseen force. 

Jazz reached out to the tether and Max took a breath. It fell apart under her touch. 

She felt his face un-clench and bring her back to the outside world. 

Jannie was running up to them, bandages and disinfectant in hand. She winced at the sight of the wound.

Jazz went to move to help patch Max up, but he stopped the hand on his face with his own. His fingers clenched when she looked at him to question it. This stopped her. 

As Jannie stared to clean around the wound. Jazz decided it best to stay where she was. It was giving the man obvious comfort and if the tether wasn’t completely broken, they’d soon learn. Jannie was reaching for the knife.

It came out cleanly. The only concern on Max’s face was an obvious reflection of whatever horror Jazz must have been expressing in her own.

A crowd started forming around them, and Jazz stepped away from Max shyly. Jannie must’ve made quite the commotion finding the bandages. 

All of the other men of the squadron stepped closest and questioned Max as to what had happened with their eyes.

Max laughed nervously, “Hey guys. I think I found our newest recruits.”

Jazz looked over to him befuddled. His signature smirk returned, and his eyes sparkled with intent. 

“I think Jazz and Jannie will be joining us from here on out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see this, hi. I love you. Hope you are staying happy, healthy, and safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Considering this cannon-adjacent, because the hope is that it could take place inside the universe, but I am sure to get some things wrong.


End file.
